


L'dor V'dor

by smallhorizons, WhyNotFly



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (though no actual incest occurs at any point during or prior to the story), Abusive Relationships, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Canon Asexual Character, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Gaslighting, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Selkie Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sex-Averse Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Withdrawn Consent Ignored
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:09:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29419896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallhorizons/pseuds/smallhorizons, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhyNotFly/pseuds/WhyNotFly
Summary: The pen has a surprising weight to it when Jon takes it and signs the contract. A similar weight settles over his shoulders. A shiver goes up his spine and settles like butterfly wings beating at the inside of his ribs. This job is his. The Archives, all the knowledge in them, those are his. A deeper sort of greed settles into his chest, and he smiles at Elias with a bright, manic energy. The kiss Elias presses to his hand feels like a blessing.-What Belongs to the Sea,Gilded EdgesJon becomes Elias' Archivist.  Elias decides a celebration is in order.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 7
Kudos: 53





	L'dor V'dor

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [What Belongs to the Sea](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20075827) by [TwoDrunkenCelestials](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoDrunkenCelestials/pseuds/TwoDrunkenCelestials), [WhyNotFly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhyNotFly/pseuds/WhyNotFly). 



> **L'dor V'dor:** Hebrew for "from generation to generation"
> 
> * * *
> 
> This story takes place during Chapter 20, [Gilded Edges](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20075827/chapters/52363273), of _What Belongs to the Sea_. We encourage you to read the story, but for those of you who haven't, here's the important context: Jon is a selkie who was forcibly married to Elias, who has his skin. Elias is emotionally manipulative but has been presenting himself as cordial, or at least non-physically abusive, aside from the forced captivity, which includes locking Jon in the bathroom or forcing him to sleep on the floor. To show how much worse Jon's captivity _could_ be, he has forced Jon to experience his (selkie) mother's memories of being raped and tortured by his (human) father. Jon is also still feeling the lingering, unpleasantly cold effects of being briefly trapped in the Lonely by Peter at this point. Just prior to the events of this fic, Jon has agreed to come work for Elias in the Magnus Institute as his new head Archivist.
> 
> Please see the end notes for detailed content warnings and clarification!

“I think this is cause for celebration.” Each word brushes Elias’ lips against the thin skin of Jon’s knuckles, his warm breath sending sparks up Jon’s arm and hooking behind his ribcage.

On the desk in front of him, his signature is still drying on his employment contract. The only light in the library is the soft yellow of the desk lamp and what little spills in from the hallway through the crack in the door. It catches on Elias’ brows and pools shadows beneath the sharp points of his cheekbones. There is something swirling in Jon’s stomach beneath the giddiness, and he doesn’t know if it is the feeling that this is _right_ , that being Elias’ Archivist is what he was always meant to be, or if it is nothing but the wine he drank with dinner.

“I bought a little something for the occasion,” Elias says, letting go of Jon’s hand and taking his warmth with him. He reaches down over the arm of the loveseat for a moment before returning with a tall, green bottle and two thin crystal glasses. “It’s a human tradition. For celebration.”

Jon watches the way the tendons bulge in the backs of Elias’ hands as he braces the flat of his thumb against the cork and pops it out. The noise cracks through the room and the pale liquid fizzes up and drips a dark spot onto the leg of Elias’ trousers.

“What is it?”

“Champagne,” Elias answers, eyes focused on the glasses as he fills them to the brim. He holds one out to Jon, and Jon takes it without hesitation, curling his fingers around the thin stem of the glass. 

Jon stares down into his champagne, watching the bubbles climb the edges towards him. “You were so sure I would accept?”

“I had the utmost confidence in you, Jon.” Elias leans forward just enough to rest his hand on Jon’s thigh. The warmth of it feels like a brand, sinking deep through the layers of fabric and skin and muscle, marking Jon all the way to the bone. “You and I both want the same thing.”

“Do we?” Jon lifts his glass and takes a sip. The champagne slips down his throat with a pleasant sting.

Elias takes his hand off Jon’s thigh and settles his fingers just beneath the tip of Jon’s chin. “To see you fulfill your potential.”

Something bright and poignant sparks in Jon’s belly and shivers out through his limbs. He fights the urge to duck his head away from Elias’ gaze. Instead, he licks his lips and says, a little faltering, but oddly proud of himself for the teasing note in his voice, “Fulfilling my potential means sitting in a dusty basement and filing?”

Elias clicks his tongue and takes a final sip of his champagne before placing the glass on the sliding desk. When his eyes return to Jon, they are dark and heavy. Elias’ fingers curl around Jon’s chin, no longer a light touch, but a firm hold that makes Jon’s cheeks go warm. “Come now, Jon,” Elias murmurs. He leans in and nudges Jon’s nose with his own. His breath curls warm and intimate against Jon’s mouth. “You _know_ it’s more than that.”

Elias’ other hand grasps Jon’s wrist, his thumb settling over Jon’s pulsepoint. He tugs, the gentlest of motions: A request, not a demand. Giving Jon the choice.

Jon shifts onto his hip, twisting to place his glass on the sliding desk. Elias releases his chin, but Jon has only a moment to miss the warmth of his fingers before Elias’ hand settles around the bottom of Jon’s thigh and squeezes, just on the edge of too hard. He pulls, and Jon moves with it, feeling, for a moment, as though he has been caught in the crest of a wave. He straddles Elias’ lap with a small sigh, legs opening to bracket Elias’ hips. Beneath his right thigh, he can feel the cold wet of the spilled champagne. He shivers, and he doesn’t know if it’s from the chill or from the way Elias is looking at him.

“There we go,” Elias says, low and teasing. “That’s much better, don’t you think?”

Jon hums, his eyelids fluttering a bit. “Better for whom?”

“Well, it’s your celebration.” Elias slides a hand around Jon’s back and pulls him forward until Jon’s bowed forehead bumps into Elias’ own. 

“A celebration _for_ me?” Jon’s voice sinks into a whisper, breathed intimately into the bare space between his and Elias’ mouths. “Or _of_ me?”

“Does the distinction alter your enjoyment?”

Elias presses his lips against Jon’s collarbone once, twice, and then slides up to bite gently at the side of his throat. Jon’s breath comes quick and flutters at the short hair in front of Elias’ ears. “It would be nice to know where I stand.”

“I thought I made that very clear.” Elias leans back away so that he can look up into Jon’s eyes properly. “You’re my selkie.” He kisses the side of Jon’s mouth, keeping just far enough away that Jon can’t kiss him back. “You’re my husband.” A kiss on the other side of the mouth. “And you’re my Archivist.” 

Elias’ mouth on Jon’s is soft, his lips still a bit wet from champagne. Jon can taste it on him, sharp and bitter. But sweet. When he pulls back, the aftertaste of alcohol turns sour on Jon’s tongue. The word _Archivist_ rolls through Jon, like a heady perfume expanding from his chest to settle hot in the curl of his toes and the tips of his fingers.

It hadn’t really sunk in, until this moment, the enormity of what Jon had just signed up for. What Elias had given him. A human job. A human life. A _purpose_.

“Your Archivist,” Jon echoes before slipping his hands behind Elias’ head and pulling him back into a kiss. He can feel Elias’ smile against his mouth before it melts into nothing but lips moving against lips and a push to get closer. Elias’ hand tightens on Jon’s thigh and slides up until it bumps into the crease of his hip. Everywhere Elias touches him burns, and Jon squeezes his legs tight to feel the press of Elias’ thighs against the inside of his calves. 

The hand at the small of Jon’s back smoothes up the length of his spine, warm palm and firm fingers, and comes to rest at the nape of Jon’s neck. Jon breathes raggedly against Elias’ mouth as Elias curls his fingers into Jon’s hair and tugs just hard enough to make a sweet tension bloom in Jon’s scalp.

The heat of Elias’ mouth, the teasing pressure of Elias’ hand in his hair, leaves Jon dizzy. He barely has the presence of mind to respond to Elias’ kisses, and can only part his lips for Elias to slip his tongue into Jon’s mouth and takewhat he wants. When Elias fists his hair and pulls his head back to expose the length of Jon’s throat, Jon can do nothing but whimper; and when Elias kisses along Jon’s jaw and then bitesat the sensitive place just below, Jon _whines_ like an animal, pleasure-pain pulsing beneath his skin. Elias nips and sucks at the spot, layers of sensation building until Jon is squirming and panting with it, flushed and overheated. Elias bites down again, harder, and Jon’s hips jerk forward in an instinctive, unconscious pursuit of _more_. Elias’ hips rise to meet his, and the firm, hot line of his erection grinds against the crease of Jon’s thigh and groin, and Jon goes utterly still.

Elias pulls away from Jon’s throat, mouth detaching with a slick sound. The careful, light kiss that Elias places at the center of the bruise that Jon can _feel_ developing makes nausea swoop in Jon’s belly. He swallows, throat dry and tight, and the hand in his hair feels like a leash.

“Is something wrong?” Elias murmurs against Jon’s throat. He releases his grip on Jon’s hair and pulls his other hand away from Jon’s hip. Jon immediately misses his warmth, and finds his throat closing up at the creeping chill he feels in the wake of Elias’ touch. Elias has given him so much, and asked for so little from him. And Jon _wants_ this, he _craves_ Elias’ touch and his warmth and his _comfort_.

Jon takes a deep breath and forces himself to relax. He realizes his hands are digging into Elias’ shoulders, clutching so tightly his knuckles are turning pale, and he releases them with a twinge of worry that he has _hurt_ Elias. “No,” he says, a little hoarse. He swallows and tries to re-wet his mouth. He reaches for Elias’ hand and curls his fingers around it, hesitates for one anxious moment before pulling it to his cheek. He has to close his eyes against the blossoming warmth that chases away the chill seeping into his bones. “No,” he repeats, and he turns his face into Elias’ hand. He presses his lips to Elias’ palm in a tentative kiss. “Nothing is wrong.”

He opens his eyes and meets Elias’ gaze. The eye contact almost _burns_ as Jon guides Elias’ hand back into his hair. Elias’ hand twitches under his, then grasps tight, tighter than before, a sweet pressure that aches in a way Jon feels in the pit of his stomach. Jon releases Elias’ hand, and moves instead to loop his arms around Elias’ neck.

“ _Look_ at you,” Elias breathes, eyes bright. His other hand settles on Jon’s hip and squeezes firmly. His mouth curves into a smile, but before he can say anything else, Jon leans in and kisses him. Long and slow and deep, trying to remember everything Elias has done to him that has filled his body with a nearly-overwhelming liquid heat. He runs his tongue along Elias’ bottom lip, follows with a gentle scrape of teeth, and presses in, tongue slipping into Elias’ mouth. It’s a strange sensation, tongues meeting and sliding against each other, and not entirely pleasant, but Elias seems to enjoy it if his quiet moan and the way his hand flexes in Jon’s hair is anything to go by.

Jon pulls back from the kiss just enough to take a shaky breath. He rests his forehead against Elias’, their noses touching in an intimate caress.

“Enjoying ourselves, are we?” Elias says. Jon flushes hot at the smile he can _hear_ in Elias’ voice. Then, steeling himself against the tremble building at the base of his spine, he grinds down against the firm bulge of Elias’ erection. The barest, surprised exhale puffs against Jon’s mouth, only noticeable because of their proximity.

“Well,” Jon replies, a little shakily, heart beating with prey-like quickness, “it _is_ a celebration, isn’t it?”

Elias’ hand tightens in Jon’s hair, then releases. There is a moment of nearly blinding panic—what did he do _wrong_?—but then Elias’ hands settle on his hips and _squeeze_ , hard and possessive.

“You are _remarkable_.” Elias presses a kiss to the corner of Jon’s mouth and lingers there. “My beautiful, _perfect_ selkie,” he murmurs, and then he surges to meet Jon’s lips in a searing kiss. Before Jon can remember how to breathe through the heat of the kiss, Elias drags Jon’s hips down to meet his in a firm, grinding motion. Jon moans helplessly against Elias’ mouth as pleasure curls in his groin, his gut, and spills outward, filling him with an aching heat that throbs in time with his heartbeat.

Elias slowly pulls away from the kiss, their mouths detaching with a wet sound that makes something uncomfortable twinge in Jon’s chest. It is difficult to hold Elias’ gaze at the best of times, and now with Elias _looking_ at Jon like he is something precious and rare found tangled in a fishing net, it is nearly impossible. His Unblinking nature lurks in his eyes like a predator circling the depths and leaves Jon floundering in a torrent of emotions he doesn’t know how to parse. Fear and desire and longing and sickness and doubt, all raw and open for Elias to _See_. Jon only manages a few seconds of eye contact before he has to look away.

Strong, slender fingers grasp his chin and guide his face back to meet Elias’ gaze. Elias runs the pad of his thumb along Jon’s lower lip and the corner of his mouth, wiping away the saliva that has gathered there. “Come now, Jon,” Elias says. “An Archivist should never avert his eyes.”

Elias’ other hand squeezes his hip gently, then slides lower, thumb massaging a slow, even circle against Jon’s inner thigh. As Elias dips his hand between them and cups his groin, Jon’s breath catches and devolves into helpless whimpering. He can feel himself growing hard beneath the heel of Elias’ palm from Elias’ kisses, his warmth, his touch, his voice, from _Elias, Elias, Elias_ —

“And doesn’t it feel good? Watching?” Elias murmurs. His lips move against Jon’s as he speaks. Jon swallows hard, fighting to find his voice. Before he can open his mouth, Elias’ grip on his chin tightens, and Elias tilts his head down, directs Jon’s gaze to where Elias is rubbing him gently through his trousers. Jon can _feel_ Elias watching him as he, in turn, watches Elias touch him. The heat in his belly radiates outward, sparks trembling beneath his skin.

Jon whimpers, helpless against the motion of Elias’ hand, the firmness of his grasp on Jon’s chin, helpless against _watching_ and being _watched_. He’s almost too overwhelmed to nod, but he manages a tiny jerk of his chin. Elias sighs, a small, fond sound, and his hand adjusts to cup Jon’s cheek. Jon takes the opportunity to look back at Elias, drink in the sight of Elias’ hungry eyes. _Revel_ in Elias watching him.

“My lovely Archivist,” Elias breathes. He squeezes Jon through his trousers and Jon can’t help but moan, eyes fluttering shut as his hips jerk forward. “You’re going to be _perfect_ for me, aren’t you, Jon?”

Jon’s breath hitches and he trembles almost violently. A thin whine escapes him, utterly without his control. In the darkness behind his closed lids, for just a moment, he feels like he is drowning, alone in the depths, being circled by a predator just out of view.

“Use your words, Jon,” Elias chides gently.

Jon’s heart throbs in his throat as he opens his eyes and breathes, “ _Yes_.”

Jon only catches Elias’ smile for a moment before he is leaned in too close, kissing his way along the curve of Jon’s cheekbone. “I know you will,” he murmurs into Jon’s skin. Everywhere Elias’ breath hits feels hot enough to melt. “I know.”

Jon whines against the sudden cold as Elias pushes him back by his shoulders and urges him gently off his lap. He is mollified only somewhat by the reassuring kisses Elias peppers along his knuckles as he pulls them both to standing.

“Don’t make a fuss, pet,” Elias says as he turns to grab the half-finished champagne. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

The implications dangling dangerously behind the words sink through Jon and settle low in his stomach. They radiate down his legs until his toes curl against the hardwood floor. The walk from the library to their bedroom has never felt longer, the press of Elias’ fingers going straight to Jon’s head until he’s dizzy with it. He surfaces in his panic standing next to their bed, watching Elias diligently folding back their quilt and creasing it neatly. The air feels thick and hard to breathe and the white of the sheets goes fuzzy as he stares at them.

“Jon?” Jon blinks as Elias grips him tight by the shoulders. “Are you quite alright?”

“I just…” Jon struggles to find the words. “You… w-we’re…”

“Shh, shh,” Elias pets his hand down the side of Jon’s face and kisses the half-formed thoughts off his lips. Jon whimpers against the warmth and grabs at Elias’ shirt, trying to force himself back into that melting mindlessness.

“Here,” Elias murmurs gently. “You don’t need to worry about anything. I’ll take proper care of you.” 

He winds his fingers into Jon’s hair and pulls his head back until his mouth tips helplessly open. The champagne hits the back of his throat unexpectedly and Jon gags, coughing against the liquid so that it spills messily down his chin. Eventually he manages to swallow, the alcohol stinging slightly as it goes. He can barely hear Elias over the slosh of champagne and the haze in his mind as he tells him, “Good boy, Jon. This will make it easier. You’re being good for me, right?”

Elias tips the bottle back and sets it on his nightstand. His fingers loosen enough in Jon’s hair that Jon can lift his head and swallow his final mouthful, the room tilting ever so slightly as he tries to catch his breath.

“There.” Elias drags a finger up the dribbled line of wine from Jon’s chin to his lips and pops it into his own mouth. “Isn’t that better?”

“Will you kiss me?” Jon asks, already tipping towards his husband, knowing that he will be caught.

“Of course, my love. Anything for you.”

Elias pulls Jon around and lays him slowly down on the bed before climbing up beside him and finally kissing him. It swirls in a pleasant harmony with the heat in his brain and he grabs tight to the front of Elias’ shirt to try and bring him in closer. He feels Elias’ fingers, practiced and precise, as they make their way down the buttons of his shirt and undo them one by one before running greedily up and down Jon’s bare chest. They catch on a nipple and twist and Jon makes a desperate, pained sound into Elias’ mouth.

Elias pulls himself back from Jon, forcing him to lose his grip on Elias’ shirt, and sits up on his heels. Jon feels dirty, imagining how he must look to Elias with his shirt open and his blush staining down to his chest. He feels a bubble of saliva spill from the corner of his mouth and he chases it self-consciously with his tongue.

“Aren’t you beautiful,” Elias muses, almost to himself, and Jon whimpers, his back arching up off the bed to try and get closer to Elias, tempt him back into kissing him, keeping him warm. Elias pushes him back down with a firm hand on the center of his chest and tuts, disapprovingly. “I thought you were being good.”

“I _am,_ just… _please,_ ” Jon begs, squirming slightly beneath Elias’ grip.

“Please what?” Elias asks. His hand drifts down Jon’s chest to his stomach, and then farther, slipping beneath the waistband of his trousers. Jon watches, his heart beating in his chest. Before he can decide if it’s excitement or panic, his hand shoots out on its own and grabs Elias by the wrist.

Elias turns to face him, raising a single, disapproving eyebrow. “Jonathan?”

“Sorry,” Jon stutters, his pulse beating wildly in his ears. “I just—”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“N-no,” Jon mumbles, but it must be too slow because Elias pulls his hand away and out of Jon’s grasp and then there is nothing on him but the weight of Elias’ disappointment.

“I don’t have to touch you if you don’t want it,” Elias says, and his words are hard and cold like sleepless nights alone, huddled on the floor of their bedroom.

“I do,” Jon protests, his voice tightening into a desperate whine. “I do want it, please don’t stop.”

Elias opens his mouth to say something but before he can, Jon reaches down and scrabbles at the fly of his own trousers, trying to get them open. He sits up, head swimming for a moment, and rises all the way to his feet. Elias’ eyes feel hot on his back as he watches Jon struggle to pull free from the legs of his trousers. He finally succeeds, kicking them across the room before turning back to face Elias, red-faced and panting.

“Please don’t stop touching me,” he says, his voice small as the embarrassment floods in too late. Elias’ pleased smile edges into a smirk as he holds out a hand to guide Jon back down into his lap. Jon wants to curl his head into Elias’ chest and rest in his warmth for a moment, but he can feel the insistent press of Elias’ length against his inner thigh and he knows it won’t be good enough.

Jon raises his hands and watches his fingers as they struggle with the button at the base of Elias’ throat. His breathing is loud and unsteady, and for a moment a terrible fear swells within him—that Elias will stop him, or perhaps that Elias will not stop him, or that Elias will See through to that core of him, hidden small and trembling in Jon’s belly, that wishes Elias would just hold him.

The first button slips loose. Jon moves to the next. Elias’ shirt is soft and warm beneath his slim, scarred hands. The buttons are smooth, almost slippery, and Jon fumbles the catch.

Jon nearly jumps at the sensation of Elias’ hands settling on his bare waist, thumbs dipping into the hollows beneath his hip bones and rubbing slow, smooth circles there. Beneath him, Elias shifts closer; sucks at the bolt of Jon’s jaw. “Relax, pet,” Elias soothes, voice pitched low. “It’s alright to be nervous. But you’re doing so well.”

Swallowing hard, Jon finally manages to slip the next button open. “I just… I want… ” he starts, stops. Swallows again. He can feel his heartbeat in his throat. “I just want to be able to do this.”

Elias hums and reaches up, grasping Jon’s chin. He tilts Jon’s head up so that Jon can meet his eyes. “Would it help if I told you what to do? How to be good for me?”

Relief swallows Jon whole. “Yes,” he says, almost gasps. “Yes, Elias, please.”

Elias rewards him with a chaste kiss. “Please what?” he murmurs against Jon’s mouth.

Jon’s face flushes hot. “Please tell me how to be good for you,” he whispers.

“Good boy,” Elias breathes. He draws Jon into a kiss that is more teeth and tongue than lips, wrapping one arm around Jon’s back to tangle in his hair. The praise makes something fracture in Jon’s chest, hot and syrupy, and he moans into Elias’ mouth as Elias drags his teeth around Jon’s bottom lip and then leaves a trail of kisses along Jon’s jaw. Jon squeezes his eyes shut tight, hands curling into the fabric of Elias’ shirt, and whimpers when Elias nips at his earlobe.

Elias withdraws slowly, with a lingering bite, and sucks at a spot beneath Jon’s ear that makes him whine, high and piteous. “There we are,” Elias murmurs. His hand slips from Jon’s hair to the back of his neck where he squeezes, like a brand, like a collar. “Finish unbuttoning my shirt, Jonathan.”

Jon nods quickly and scrambles in his haste to do as Elias says. His hands are trembling finely, and he forces himself to slow, to take several deep breaths. Elias’ hands are warm on his neck, on his waist, their grip sturdy and unrelenting.

Elias’ shirt is already partially untucked, and comes free of his trousers easily with a gentle tug. Beneath his button-down, he’s wearing a plain white shirt, thin but soft. The button-down comes off in a matter of moments; then Elias’ hands have left Jon’s skin, leaving a biting chill in their wake, and Elias is pulling his shirt over his head, baring his chest to Jon.

There are no scars, here, no mottled bites or badly-healed wounds, no evidence of a life hard-lived. Elias’ chest and arms are lean but well-muscled, his stomach slightly soft with middle age. He is nothing like Jon, all wiry muscle and hard angles, marked by a life in the dangerous ocean.

Elias pulls Jon tight, and the heat of Elias’ stomach against his own makes Jon gasp and lurch forward in a mindless, greedy desire for _more_ —Elias’ touch always chases away that lingering cold, yes, but this— _this_ —

Jon loses himself for a little while, whimpering against Elias’ mouth as Elias holds him tight, his hands stroking up Jon’s bare back while Jon clings to him, bare skin touching bare skin, so much warmth filling Jon that there is no room for anything else.

“Beautiful,” Elias is murmuring, “my perfect Archivist...” and Jon’s whimper builds to a whine. Elias’ hands slide down the length of his spine and settle on Jon’s arse. He pushes his hips up as he grinds Jon’s hips down, and Jon’s whine escalates to a keening sound he hardly recognizes as coming from himself. “ _Beautiful_ ,” Elias repeats, and he bites at Jon’s neck as he guides Jon’s uncoordinated hips into an undulating motion against him. Jon’s mind goes hazy, alight with Elias’ touch and hot arousal and the bleary effects of alcohol.

There is a moment where the world seems to tilt around Jon—and then he realizes that the world is not tilting, he is, and he lands on his back on the mattress with a quiet grunt, legs spread to accommodate Elias between them. The first press of Elias’ hips against Jon’s, bearing him down into the mattress, makes Jon’s breath catch in his throat. The second has him whining, wordless and overwhelmed.

Elias chuckles in his ear, low and fond, and slows the rhythm of his hips until he is lying still between Jon’s spread legs. “Oh, Jonathan,” he says. “So _needy_ , aren’t you?”

Jon flushes, embarrassment flooding him, but there’s nothing to say; he _is_ needy, _desperate_ for Elias’ touch and the warmth that comes with it. Elias doesn’t give him time to respond, anyway, kissing whatever defense Jon may have had for himself right out of his mouth. The kiss is slow and wet, Elias’ tongue slipping deep enough that Jon squirms with discomfort—then moans, because squirming beneath Elias’ weight grinds the throbbing arousal between his legs against the firm press of Elias’ erection. His head feels heavy and full.

Elias pulls away slowly, leaving Jon’s mouth slick and tender. Elias cups his cheek and runs a gentle thumb over the crest of Jon’s cheekbone, and for a moment, Jon’s chest fills with something indescribably tender.

Then Elias pulls himself off Jon, stands in front of him with his chest bared and his erection tenting the thin material of his trousers. Jon, flat on his back, can’t help but look at it, mouth going dry with a tension he can’t quite name. “Sit up, Jon,” Elias says, not unkindly. He even gives Jon his hand so he can help Jon into a seated position perched at the edge of the mattress. Jon’s thighs are pressed tight together, and Elias tsks gently at him. His hands are warm and so soft against Jon’s bare thighs as he coaxes them apart and then steps forward to hold them open with his own legs.

“There we are,” Elias murmurs. He pets one hand through Jon’s hair. “Take off my belt.”

Jon can’t quite get his mouth wet enough to reply. He nods, jerkily, and manages to get the belt undone on the second try. He unthreads it from Elias’ belt loops and, not knowing what else to do with it, drops it by the side of the bed where the rest of Elias’ clothes lay rumpled. “Good,” Elias says, almost sighs. Then, “My trousers, now.”

Jon’s hands feel slow, clumsy. He pops the button loose; unzips the zipper. Feels the heat of Elias’ erection through his trousers and pants, so close to his hands. Something crawls into Jon’s throat and lodges there. He breathes around it, and goes to pull Elias’ trousers down, but Elias tightens his hand in Jon’s hair and drags his head back enough so that Jon can make eye contact.

Elias looms over him, impossibly tall, it seems, from this angle. “Not yet,” Elias says. His voice is so steady. Firm. Almost disaffected, even with his trousers starting to sag around his hips. Jon looks up at him and doesn’t understand, until the grip in his hair tightens again and pulls him forward.

“Oh,” Jon says, very small, unintentional. The scent of Elias’ arousal is overwhelming this close, filling Jon’s nostrils and his throat, almost choking him with it. Jon’s breath catches, unsteady. Elias guides him closer.

“Show me how good you can be, Jon,” Elias says. Unsure, Jon tries to look up at Elias, but the hand in his hair tightens again. Up close, all Jon can see is the thick line of Elias’ erection, straining against his black briefs, a damp spot where his arousal has soaked the fabric.

“I don’t—” Jon starts, helpless. “I… Elias, I don’t know what—”

“It’s alright, Jon,” Elias soothes. “It’s alright. Just use your mouth.”

Jon hesitates, anxiety making his heartbeat prey-quick, feeling lost without specific direction. But Elias’ hand is tightening in his hair again, almost painful, and Jon needs to prove himself, needs to prove to Elias that he cando this. So Jon breathes out, slowly, and leans in that last bare inch to press a chaste, closed-mouth kiss to Elias’ erection through his briefs. It’s hot against his mouth, and twitches lightly at his touch.

“Good,” Elias murmurs. His hold on Jon’s hair relaxes, still firm but no longer teetering on the edge of pain. Jon closes his eyes, chest oddly heavy. He kisses Elias’ cock again, a quick press of lips, and again. He raises his hands, unsure really what he plans on doing with them, but Elias’ hand tightens past that teetering edge, into sharp, bright pain that makes Jon whimper. “ _Just_ your mouth,” Elias says. And then perhaps he takes pity on Jon, because he elaborates, “Open-mouthed kissing. Use your tongue.”

Jon nods, as much as he can with Elias’ hand so tight in his hair, and this time he opens his mouth to meet the curve of Elias’ cock, kissing it slick and heavy through the fabric. He drags his tongue along the fabric, heart hammering, feeling Elias’ cock twitch and pulse against his mouth. The scent pours down his nose and throat, so thick that Jon struggles to swallow around it. He feels dizzy, but perhaps that is just the wine and the champagne.

Elias sighs and pets through Jon’s hair, and Jon licks and sucks and kisses him through his briefs. His senses are overwhelmed with Elias, Elias, Elias; Elias’ taste on his tongue, Elias’ hand in his hair, Elias’ scent all around him.

“Good boy,” Elias says, distantly, his breathing coming heavy. “You’re so good for me, aren’t you? My lovely selkie. My Archivist.”

Jon rests his forehead against Elias’ warm stomach. His mouth trembles. “Yours,” he echoes, hoarsely.

Elias tugs Jon gently away. His grip is loose enough that Jon can tilt his head backwards and catch Elias’ expression. He is pink-cheeked and dark-eyed, wet lips parted, and as one part of Jon glows warmly with the knowledge that _he_ did that, _he_ put that expression on Elias’ face, another part twists, painful and shuddering.

“Take my cock out, darling,” Elias says gently. His pupils are blown so wide they nearly swallow his irises. “You may use your hands.”

Jon’s hands, he realizes, have been clenched in the sheets beside his thighs. It takes him a moment to uncurl his fingers and bring them towards where Elias is hot and straining against spit-slick fabric. He watches his hands, and they do not feel like his own.

“That’s it, you’re doing so well pet,” Elias murmurs as Jon slips one hand inside the slit in Elias’ briefs and closes his fingers around the silk-smooth heat of his erection. He wants to shut his eyes, but he is Elias’ Archivist now, and Archivists do not avert their gaze. He draws Elias out of his briefs, holds him, blood-hot and beating, in the palm of his hand. Elias’ hand tilts his head forward again, just enough to break their eye contact and guide Jon’s eyes to where he is holding Elias’ cock. Jon’s stomach turns over, slow and nauseating.

Elias’ free hand ghosts over Jon’s knuckles and wraps around the base of his cock, trapping Jon’s fingers beneath them. His other hand tugs at Jon’s hair, tightens, directs him to tilt his head back once again. Elias’ eyes capture Jon’s and hold them, pinned wide and seeing. “Lick me,” Elias says. “Get me nice and wet.”

His eyes are so heavy. Jon cannot look away.

Elias’ hips pulse forward, and the head of his cock bumps, slick and hot, against Jon’s cheek. “Be good, Jon,” Elias says, voice pitched lower, and Jon realizes he has been sitting motionless.

“Yes,” Jon whispers, “yes, I’ll be good,” and he leans forward and licks an unsteady line up the side of Elias’ cock. It tastes of salt and musk, of arousal, and it leaves Jon’s stomach feeling uneasy. But Elias groans quietly, face going momentarily slack in a pleasure that makes Jon’s cheeks flush with something that is almost like pride, even as it nauseates him, and so he does it again.

The angle is awkward, with Elias’ fist in Jon’s hair tilting his head backwards, their eyes caught on one another’s, and Jon is clumsy and unsure, but he does as Elias says. He licks him from where Elias’ hand is wrapped around his own to where his foreskin has pulled back to reveal a pearlescent liquid beading at the tip of his cock. He can’t help but think of what he must look like, a fist in his hair, face tinged red, mouth open and drooling as he licks sloppy and uncoordinated at Elias’ cock. Is this what Elias finds beautiful? Jon beneath him like a good pet, helpless and overwhelmed? His stomach tightens. His eyes are burning with the need to blink.

And then Elias’ hand is guiding his cock forward, and he is saying, “Open your mouth,” and Jon obeys.

Elias sighs as he rubs the head of his cock along Jon’s tongue, dips further into Jon’s mouth to rub against the inside of his cheek. It’s an utterly foreign sensation, one which Jon’s mind struggles to categorize even as he does his best to stay still, to be good.

“Beautiful. My lovely, obedient selkie.” Elias trails the slick head of his cock along the corner of Jon’s mouth and then rests it there, heavy, on Jon’s lower lip. “Take me into your mouth—just the head,” he clarifies, and Jon leans in, closing his lips around the head of Elias’ cock. Elias chuckles, his voice almost teasing. “Mind your teeth, now, cover them with your lips— _very_ good, pet. And suck, gently. _Good_ , Jon.”

Jon couldn’t hurt Elias even if he wanted to. His blunt teeth, his close cut fingernails filed into smooth round edges. He feels dirty, broken, with the hand in his hair like a leash. He is too cold for bitterness; the exhaustion fills him to the brim, a rising tide. Elias is right. He is obedient. Harmless. _Domesticated_. Maybe that’s why it almost feels good. 

Elias moans, low and wavering. Jon blinks up at him, briefly stunned, because he has never heard Elias like this, so uninhibited; pure pleasure curls through his tone, saturates his voice. Elias’ eyes meet Jon’s again, and his gaze is _desire_ and _pleasure_ and _mine_ , so powerful that Jon feels it all the way in that shivering part of his stomach which had turned cold without him fully realizing. Jon whimpers, utterly unintentional, around Elias’ cock.

Elias’ hips jerk forward, and for a moment Jon’s mouth is completely filled, salt and heat and arousal, pressing into his throat. He cannot move, not with Elias’ hand in his hair like this, but he barely has a moment to start panicking before Elias has withdrawn completely, the head of his cock smearing wetly against Jon’s cheek and mouth. Jon coughs reflexively, throat spasming, and tries to lick the worst of the mess off his lips. He shudders, grimacing at the bitter taste of Elias’ precum, and is wiping his hand across his mouth before he realizes what he’s doing.

Jon freezes, the back of his hand pressed to his mouth, and he is already starting to say, “I’m sorry—” when Elias laughs, properly laughs, not just a refined chuckle.

“Yes, it’s certainly an acquired taste,” Elias says, humor evident in his voice. His hand unclasps around Jon’s, and Jon in turn, lets his grasp slip from the base of Elias’ cock. “Don’t worry, though, pet,” Elias says, even as he’s tilting Jon’s head back and leaning down to lick his own taste out of Jon’s mouth, “You’ll get used to it soon enough.” 

Elias pushes forward, tipping Jon back until he falls out of their kiss and onto the sheets with a thump. Elias smirks as his hands go to his waistband, and Jon dares not look away as he steps out of his trousers and briefs. Finally he can see Elias, all of Elias, his bare body and his cock shiny with Jon’s own saliva. . Jon feels like a meal, lovingly prepared and laid out under Elias’ hungry eyes. He is the fish who longed for the close comfort of the net. All that remains is to be eaten.

“Will it hurt?”

“Never, never.” Elias plants one knee on the bed and lowers himself over Jon, cock trailing slick and warm against the hollow of Jon’s hip bones. Elias kisses first one shoulder, then the other, and Jon’s head spins in equal part from the alcohol and the smell of Elias’ hair nestled up against his face. “I would never hurt you.”

“Liar.” The word tumbles from Jon’s thoughts to his lips unintentionally. His chest seizes up in minute panic, but Elias merely chuckles in response.

Elias lifts back up, suspending himself over Jon on his hands and knees, and then lifts his leg up and over to free Jon from the cage of his body. Jon stares up at him and stays where he’s been put. Elias lifts his hands and slides Jon’s unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders so gently that Jon is left trembling.

“Do you really believe that, pet? That I want to hurt you?”

Jon drops his gaze away, letting his head fall to the side. Guilty. 

Elias smooths his hand down Jon’s arm, pulling on it and arranging him until he’s laying on his side. “Everything I do, I do to take proper care of you. You know that, right Jonathan?”

Elias lays down beside him, slotting his warm body up behind Jon’s. He wraps an arm around Jon’s chest and kisses the back of his neck, and everywhere they touch Jon can feel the soft heat of his skin. “You want to be taken care of, don’t you?”

Jon has nothing but wrong answers. He doesn’t want to be left alone, is that enough? He doesn’t want Elias to abandon him in this world where he knows nothing and everyone around him is an enemy. But that kind of love for the man who has taken so much from him tastes like poison in his throat.

“I thought I wasn’t allowed to look away,” Jon murmurs, coolly. Behind him, Elias pauses with his mouth hot against the skin of Jon’s neck.

“Then don’t,” Elias answers, reaching up to grip Jon’s shoulder and push it down until his back bends in a graceful, arching spiral and they are nose to nose again. Jon breathes in, his strained chest struggling to expand. The air is nothing but Elias’s breath and Elias’s cock and Jon is drowning in it. He tries to gasp in another breath but it doesn’t reach his lungs and his muscles tighten in momentary panic beneath Elias’s iron grip. 

“Perfect.”

Elias looks down and Jon follows his gaze to see him tugging at Jon’s briefs, dragging them down until they tangle lecherously over his knees. It makes the blush spill hot down his back as he stares shamefully at his own straining erection. Just touching Elias, smelling him, tasting him, and already his brain feels runny like wax, like it might melt. He rubs his thighs together against the prickling heat beneath his skin. 

Jon resists the urge to look away as Elias takes himself in hand and guides his hot, heavy cock in between Jon’s thighs. It throbs as it slides against his soft skin, and Jon turns his head to see the swollen tip of it poking through the front of his legs, nearly obscured by his own erection. It slips away as Jon watches, Elias pulling his hips back slowly and then pressing back in, sliding his spit-slick cock through the easy flesh of Jon’s thighs.

“See?” Elias murmurs, kissing Jon’s shoulder again. “It doesn’t hurt at all, does it?”

Jon shakes his head mutely, not trusting his own words. His breath is starting to turn to gasps and quiet moans as Elias sucks the fragile skin of his neck until it feels like it will bruise. The air is full of the lewd sound of skin on skin as Elias speeds up enough for his thrusts to sting. 

Elias grips the meat of Jon’s thigh in his hand and presses it down hard around his cock. “Keep this nice and tight for me, now.”

Jon struggles to nod and squeezes his thighs together as tight as he can manage. He can feel Elias in between his legs, huge and hard and pulsing, and he swallows shakily against the sudden fear. He is so small beneath Elias’ hands. For a moment, looking down at them, he almost doesn’t recognize their shape, or the body held captive beneath them.

“E-elias,” he moans out, turning his head and nudging at Elias’ nose, trying to be kissed again. He needs something to focus on, to forget what he is doing.

The arm Elias has nestled beneath Jon wraps around and grabs him by the chin, pulling his face forcefully away. Elias leans his head down against Jon’s, trapping him there between the weight of his breath and the hand like iron pressing down on his thigh. “You have no idea,” Elias whispers hot into Jon’s ear, “how long I have been waiting for this.”

The words echo in Jon’s brain growing rougher, heavier, the voice changing until it is not Elias’ at all. _You have no idea,_ his father says, and he cannot think around the agony of the iron at his mother’s throat—

 _Wait_ , Jon tries to say, his father’s harsh, panting breaths thundering in his ears. His skin is crawling, is alive with sickening heat, and he tries, once again, to choke out, “Wait, Elias—”

But Elias’ hand just tightens on his chin, fingers cruel and crushing and searing like iron, and his mother sobs as his father forces her to look at him while he takes and takes and takes, and she is saying _no, no, please, stop,_ and Jon’s breath shatters on an exhale and he sobs, “ _No_.”

“Shh, shh,” Elias hushes him, and his father snarls _shut up_ as his mother begs and begs, pressing down harder to hold Jon in place as he starts to struggle. “I’m so close, it’s almost over, I’m so close.”

“Elias, please,” Jon sobs. He tries to rip his leg out of Elias’ grip, but Elias rolls himself forward, using his position as leverage to tip Jon onto his stomach. With one hand, he presses Jon down into the bed, and his breath freezes in his throat, choking him. She is screaming and thrashing, iron burning everywhere it touches her skin, but even its agony is kinder than his touch. _Stop_ , she wails, and Jon’s voice breaks where he’s begging into the pillow. Elias pauses for only a breath before thrusting back down into the hollow between Jon’s thighs, using him quick and thoughtlessly, and his father is snarling, _Be quiet, or I’ll make you be quiet_.

As Elias fucks him, praise tumbles from his mouth like his panting breath. About how beautiful Jon is, _how lovely she’ll look once he fucks a baby into her,_ how wonderful he feels, how perfect, how obedient. “My selkie,” he repeats breathlessly as his hips finally start to stutter and lose their rhythm. _My selkie_ , his father pants in his mother’s ear, fingers digging into old bruises, _my selkie_. “My selkie, my selkie, my selkie.”

Cum spills hot and sticky between Jon’s thighs, pooling on the bed beneath him. Elias collapses against him, hot and heavy, pressed into his back. Jon wiggles until he can turn his head to the side and take in a gulping breath of fresh air, skin burning with the cruel grasp of phantom iron.

They lay together for a silent moment, each catching their breath, until finally Elias crawls off him and turns Jon over onto his back with gentle hands. Jon stares down at his body, and he doesn’t understand what he is seeing. Where is the bruising, the sickening swell of his stomach? _No_ , Jon thinks through the dizziness, _that didn’t happen. That isn’t what happened._ No chains on him, no harsh hands. _Just a memory_ , Jon tells himself, heart hammering, and not even his own. Elias would never...he would never.

“There there,” Elias murmurs, so gently, so kindly, running his hand through Jon’s hair once to sweep it back from his sweat-soaked face and then brushing at his tears. “I know it’s frightening, but you’re alright.”

“Did you hear me ask to stop?” Jon’s voice comes out of him cracked and broken. He swallows thickly, hearing his mother’s ragged gasping as she fought to catch her breath.

Elias sighs and settles down beside him, running a soft hand down the dip of Jon’s chest. “They’re not your memories, Jonathan. I would never treat you that way. I would never lock you in a cage, or hurt you, or force you to do anything you didn’t want to do. Didn’t we wait until you were ready?”

“Y-yes, but,” Jon says, but the argument dies in this throat. But what? The alcohol still spinning through his system left the evening a bit of a blur, but he was at least sure that this had been his decision. Hadn’t he been happy about it? He remembers they were celebrating.

“All of this has always been about _your_ pleasure, Jon.” Elias’ hand slides down Jon’s body and wraps gently around his half-hard cock, stroking it back up. “I just want to make you feel good.”

Jon stares down at Elias’ hand as it tightens around him just enough to have him bucking his hips up into the warm circle of flesh. Elias twists his wrist and Jon tosses his head, moaning and reaching out to grab at Elias for support. The room blurs, wavy with unspilled tears, but he cannot close his eyes. Elias kisses up and down Jon’s hairline and whispers encouragements, stroking at his cock faster and faster until Jon tips entirely over the edge and comes crying, spilling over Elias’ hand.

Elias lets Jon’s softening cock slip out of his grip and brushes the mess off against the already soiled bed sheets. “There we are, there we are, didn’t that feel good, my lovely new Archivist?”

Jon looks up at Elias where he lays, hovering over him. He is lucky, isn’t he, compared to the alternative. He is so very lucky. 

“Yes,” Jon whispers. A tear slips down his cheek and pools, hot and sticky, against the curve of his ear. “It felt good.”

Elias smiles and leans in to kiss him, chaste and easy and warm, the action comfortably familiar after all the ways Elias has laid his hands on Jon’s body tonight. Here, pressed against the softness of Elias’ mouth, Jon knows what is expected of him.

“As I promised,” Elias whispers, pulling Jon gently into his embrace. “I always take care of what’s mine.”

**Author's Note:**

> **Detailed Content Warnings:**
> 
> \- **Consent Issues & Abusive Relationship:** Initially, the sex scene between Jon and Elias is dubiously consensual, though Jon does technically say "yes" and even pursues sex, due to 1) the context of an emotionally (and somewhat physically) abusive relationship; 2) inebriation, including forced inebriation; 3) emotional manipulation and gaslighting that leads to coerced consent; and 4) Jon being a sex-averse asexual person deciding to go along with a sexual situation because he thinks that he needs to. During sex, Jon withdraws his consent, which Elias ignores, and physically holds him down as Jon struggles.  
> \- **Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con and Torture:** While Jon and Elias have sex, Jon has a flashback to his mother's memories of being raped and tortured by his father. These flashbacks are not particularly explicit, but are clearly violent in nature.  
> \- **Implied/Referenced Incest** : While there is no _actual_ incest in this story, Jon remembers his mother being raped by his father _as if he were his mother_ , and these memories are overlaid on top of the actual sex scene. This could therefore be read as if Jon were remembering his father raping him, though no such rape ever occurred.
> 
> * * *
> 
> **Author's Notes:**
> 
> We started this fic _nine months ago_ and we are so, so, _so_ excited to finally be able to present the finished product ... just in time for Fly's birthday. So we suppose it's accurate to say she literally aged a year working on perfecting this fic XD
> 
> If you liked this fic, come visit us on our tumblrs! You can find Osiris at [@smallhorizons](https://smallhorizons.tumblr.com/) and Fly at [@apatheticbutterflies](https://apatheticbutterflies.tumblr.com/).
> 
> All kudos, bookmarks, and comments are treasured and will be used to build a shrine for Fly's birthday. We'd love to hear what you think!


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